


The one where Harry wants to watch

by colazitron



Series: smut prompts [21]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Somewhat, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: Harry goes to see Fionn inNativesand offers him a ride home afterwards. The night, somewhat predictably, leads them into the bedroom, but Harry wants to try something new.





	The one where Harry wants to watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Popstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popstar/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the persons depicted herein, nor is this meant to represent reality in any meaningful way. I made all of this up and am sharing it purely for fun. Please heed the fourth wall.
> 
> for popstar. Harry/Fionn - "trying something new"/"kink exploration"

Fionn's still buzzing a little from the rush of being on stage, but he can feel the crash coming already, so he bundles up in his jacket and begs off joining Ella and Manish at the pub for a pint or two. (Or three. Four have been known to be drunk as well.) He laughs off their booing and waves at them over his shoulder, hunching them a little against the still-cold breeze. Digging his hands into the pockets of the jacket, he pulls out his phone to idly check the time and finds a text from Harry sitting on the screen, waiting for him. He swipes his thumb over the display lazily, but before he can read it, another one comes in.

 

**H**

Look up

 

Fionn stops in his tracks and frowns at his phone, eyes flicking up to read the text sent just fifteen minutes ago.

 

**H**

You were amazing.

Look up

 

Fionn feels his ears fill with the white noise rush of his own blood, fingertips going cold on the phone. Is Harry--?

He looks up.

Across the street Harry leans against the wall of a building, long legs crossed in front of him, knee length coat so well-tailored and visibly expensive that it's completely at odds with the knit beanie hat he's got pulled over his hair. Fionn wonders idly if it's meant to protect Harry against the chilly breeze or any curious looks, and then slips his phone back into his pocket. Even from across the street he can see Harry smile. Harry slips his phone back into his pocket as well, but makes no move to come over, so Fionn rolls his eyes to himself and takes a cursory right-left glance before jogging over to Harry.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, trying to pretend that the five seconds of jogging are responsible for how his heartbeat has picked up speed.

Harry laughs a little.

“Hi, nice to see you too,” he teases.

Fionn rolls his eyes again, this time where Harry can see it.

“You didn't say you'd be coming.”

“I wasn't sure I was going to make it,” Harry says. “Had a meeting.”

Fionn nods his acknowledgement and then rolls back and forth on the soles of his feet once. It _is_ nice to see Harry. Really nice. He's just not sure where they go from here.

Harry pushes off the wall and nods his head down the street.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” Fionn says, and tries to ignore the way his fingers go cold from something other than the night air as he falls into step with Harry. There's only two types of rides Harry's ever given him, and it's never easy to tell which exactly he's offering.

They walk in silence for a good minute, before Fionn breaks.

“So, you liked it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and looks up and over with a smile. “It was a bit fucked up, but really good.”

Fionn snorts a laugh and shrugs.

“That's what makes it so fun,” he says.

“There's nothing wrong with a bit of happiness!” Harry protests, but he's grinning too.

“Says the pop star who chose a war film as his film debut,” Fionn points out.

Harry's grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Ah, well, they don't make romcoms like they used to.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Fionn taunts.

“You're right,” Harry sighs dramatically. “I was really just there for your pretty face, Fionnley.”

“It is a very pretty face,” Fionn agrees, just because he knows it'll make Harry laugh.

And it does. Makes him snort a little indelicately, and then grin at him in that delighted way he always does when someone takes him up on his careless flirtation.

It's always been easy for Fionn to do just that. To take a mile when Harry gives an inch and push back against the challenge sitting in the quirk of Harry's eyebrow or smirk. It's nothing he has to think about, it's just a dynamic they fell into almost the moment they met. Harry ran up a flight of stairs to fetch a highlighter Fionn was musing aloud he could use, and in return, too startled to do anything else, Fionn had pretended to swoon. Harry had laughed, and that had been that.

And it's fun, too, flirting. It doesn't have to mean anything. Didn't mean anything even when they spent six weeks together either in the water or in bed. Each others' too, and not just to sleep.

But then maybe it does mean something now, almost a year later, after Harry's sent him a beach-side photo from Jamaica, his torso and legs pointing towards a gorgeous turquoise sea and the bulge of his cock in his tiny swimsuit just a little more heavy than it is _à repose_. After Fionn responded with unnecessarily hollow cheeks around an ice lolly that made his lips fill with blood. After more pictures and texts and phone calls at odd hours.

Now that Harry's come back to London, gearing up for promo for his music, and they've picked up what Fionn initially thought they'd leave in France almost a little too seamlessly – maybe it does mean something now, when Harry offers a ride and Fionn accepts.

When they reach Harry's car, there's a small supermarket bouquet of roses on the passenger seat. Fionn stares down at it and then at Harry on the other side of the car, grinning like he's very pleased with himself.

“For you,” he says. “I heard it's the done thing.”

Fionn takes the flowers and stares down at them for a moment. They're pretty, for a supermarket arrangement.

“You're so fucking presumptuous,” he says, and slides into the seat to the sound of Harry's laughter. He didn't even have the decency to bring them to the theatre, just left them waiting in the car like Fionn is that much of a sure thing. He may very well be, but does Harry have to rub his nose in it like that?

“Hopeful,” Harry corrects after he's slid into his seat, reaching back to draw the seatbelt across his chest.

Fionn lets Harry pretend he means that and buckles his own seatbelt, studying the flowers in his lap while Harry pulls out onto the street.

“Are you staying over?” he asks two turns later, and looks up and over at Harry.

Harry sends him a quick glance to catch his eye before he looks back out at the street.

“If you'll have me,” he says, unusually careful.

Fionn frowns a little even as he can feel excitement start to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“You know I will.”

“Presumptuous,” Harry points out with a smile playing around his lips, and Fionn reaches over to lightly swat him on the shoulder. Then he asks him about the meeting he was in, and lets the cadence of Harry's voice wash over him as Harry tells him about his day, relaxing back into the seat. The adrenaline from earlier has faded, but the crash he'd thought was coming seems to have been chased off by Harry's presence. It's not the first time that has happened either.

Harry's only been over at Fionn's three or four times at the most, yet he slips his shoes off by the door and hangs up his coat on the rack on the back of it like it's the most commonplace thing, following Fionn into the kitchen when he's done. He wraps his arms around Fionn's waist and presses up close to his back while Fionn fills a vase with water.

“It was amazing seeing you on stage,” Harry says, hooking his chin over Fionn's shoulder, resting his head there for a bit.

Fionn hums askance and does his best to somehow keep the original arrangement while he puts the flowers in the vase.

“All eyes on you,” Harry says. “You can make an entire theatre pay attention to only you.”

Fionn huffs a laugh, and then pushes the vase a little further back onto the counter before he turns around in the circle of Harry's arms.

“That's kind of how theatre works,” he says.

“No, people look at you because they can't look away when you're up there,” Harry says. “It's you.”

Harry's got that intense-earnest frown on, and Fionn bites his lip and feels his cheeks flush with pleased heat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says and leans in to nip at Fionn's mouth. “It's fucking hot.”

Fionn huffs another amused breath, and yields his mouth to Harry, opens under his lips and lifts his arms to circle Harry's neck lazily. Harry kisses him deep and runs his hands up Fionn's back, feels out his sides when his hands come back down, and tugs at the waistband of Fionn's jeans to bring their hips closer, to let Fionn feel the bulge of Harry's own dick in his trousers.

“Is there something you want?” Fionn asks, voice low, and rubs his crotch on Harry's with a slow, deliberate movement.

Harry hums, a pleased, unhurried noise right into Fionn's mouth. The fingers of one of his hands sneak up under Fionn's jumper and t-shirt, nails teasing along the line of Fionn's hipbone.

“There is, actually,” he says, ducks his head to nip at the line of Fionn's jaw and then further down to suck the beginnings of a bruise into his neck.

Fionn groans, and pulls at Harry's hair when he gets too close to leaving an actual mark. Harry gives in and moves back up, taking another deep kiss from Fionn's mouth.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks when he pulls back.

Fionn's not sure he'd deny Harry anything even if he didn't look like something straight out of his fantasies, with his kiss-swollen lips and glittering eyes.

“What?” he asks.

“I want to watch you.”

“Watch me?” Fionn asks, brow furrowing and cheeks flushing before he feels like his mind has entirely caught up. “What, watch me get off?”

There's red on Harry's cheeks too, but his hooded eyes travel over the length of Fionn's body with a heat that warms Fionn to the core.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I want to look at you.”

Fionn's never done anything like it, but he won't pretend that the full weight of Harry's attention isn't intoxicating. He's always loved being at the centre of it.

“Okay,” he says. “But if it's not working--”

“We stop,” Harry agrees immediately, and leans in to seal the promise with a kiss.

Fionn sinks into it for a moment, and then pushes Harry away with a hand on his chest.

“Ah,” he says, and steps out from between Harry and the kitchen counter, more than half a step away from Harry again for the first time since Harry stepped into the kitchen earlier. “You wanted to look, didn't you?”

Harry's eyes go a little wide, but so do his pupils.

“Fuck,” he breathes, then swallows hard and nods.

Fionn takes a step backwards towards the hallway and, ultimately, the bedroom, and then crooks his finger at Harry, beckoning him to follow. Not that Harry needs the invitation, if the way he's running his eyes all over Fionn is any indication. Still, it feels… good. The way Harry's not looking away from him, and the way Fionn's sure he's not doing it even when Fionn turns around and faces away from him so he won't trip over something. That would be decidedly not sexy.

In the bedroom Fionn doesn't turn on the overhead light, but he turns both bedside lamps all the way up, and then steps away from the bed again.

For a moment he looks at Harry and Harry looks at him and neither of them make any move forwards.

Then Fionn makes an inviting gesture towards the bed.

“Sit by the headboard,” he says.

Harry's eyes flick to the bed and then back to Fionn.

“Like this?” he asks, vaguely gesturing at his own clothes.

Fionn moves his head side to side in a show of contemplation and then shrugs.

“However naked you want to be.”

He watches Harry grin and then quickly slip out of all his clothes before he climbs up onto the bed, stuffing a pillow between his back and the headboard, legs splayed lazily, not quite criss-crossed.

“Now what?” Harry asks, a little bit of amusement shining through his obvious interest.

Fionn shrugs again, smiling back.

“Now you watch,” he says, and moves to stand in front of the foot end of the bed.

Harry tracks his movement with interest and Fionn tries not to laugh when he makes a tiny disappointed noise when Fionn only sits and leans down to take off his socks. There never seems to be a good moment for that, really. Socks are probably the least sexy piece of clothing there is.

For a moment Fionn feels a little overcome with nerves, considers just taking all his clothes off with his back to Harry, tease him with the possibility of a proper tease more than actually doing it. But there's too much excitement mingling in with the nerves, and the imagined weight of Harry's eyes on him feels almost physical, so Fionn gets back up and grins when he turns around to face Harry again, because the relieved interest is naked and plain to see on Harry's face.

Fionn has no idea how to give a strip tease, really, so he's going to make this up as he goes. There's no way to take off a jumper that's particularly sexy that he can think of, so he just pulls it up over his head and drops it on the floor, doesn't bother smoothing his hair back down, and watches Harry watch him. He slips one of his hands up under his t-shirt, circles his belly button underneath it with a finger and then lets it meander upwards, dragging the fabric with it a little.

When he gets himself off it's usually more perfunctory. Goal-oriented. But Fionn's always liked the feeling of his skin under his fingers, and so he tries to tell himself to relax and lets his hand explore. The other one follows at first but then skips ahead when he can feel his nipples start to harden. He usually feels his own touch there more strongly when it's through a layer of fabric, for some reason, and so he flicks his nail over one and lets his eyelids droop at the sensation.

Harry bites his lip a little, eyes fixed on Fionn's chest, and so Fionn pinches, even when he doesn't usually, pulls and twists a little and arches his back.

“Feel good?” Harry asks, voice low and eyes hot when he looks up to catch Fionn's gaze.

Fionn makes a sound halfway between a hum and a moan in response, because it does feel good, but mostly because he knows it _looks_ good to Harry. He's not sure he wants to give that away. Instead, he runs his hands back down his body, his shirt falling with them, and thrills a little at the complete lack of disappointment on Harry's face.

Harry's always so willing to be happy with whatever Fionn will give him, it always makes Fionn want to give him more. Still, he runs his hands lower, traces the waistband of his jeans, leans forward a little to run his hands halfway down his thighs and then rights himself again, groping himself through the thick denim. Harry's eyes follow the movement of his hands diligently, part of his lower lip sucked between his teeth like he's really just that captivated. His fingers curl into loose fists like he's thinking about reaching out when Fionn keeps doing it, squeezing his cock and rubbing the heel of his palm into the hardening length of it.

Fionn's hips jerk involuntarily when he catches the head on the seam of his trousers and Harry leans forward in response. Just a little bit, but Fionn catches it anyway, closes his eyes for a moment.

Harry's cock is starting to fill.

Fuck, this is a lot more intense than Fionn thought it'd be just a few moments ago.

He reaches up and takes his shirt off, tries to do it slowly and drags his fingers up over his skin as he does it. He feels hot all over and the cooler air of the room is a welcome though brief relief as it hits his skin. The shirt falls unnoticed, and Fionn runs his hands through his hair once, down over his face, his neck, his chest.

Harry's hand runs up his own thigh, fingers rubbing over the groove of where it meets his torso, like he's thinking about touching himself already.

They're usually a lot more explosive about everything they do together. Once they're alone and there's a bed – or really any surface – nearby, it's clothes off and hands on each other's bodies in barely any time at all. This is uncharted territory. And Fionn kind of thinks he really likes exploring it. So he runs his fingers over his collarbones, back and forth a few times before he gets his nails involved, leaves white lines that turn red, then moves lower and pinches his nipples again. It shocks a small gasp out of him, how intense it feels this time, so he does it again and again, twists and pulls and kind of wishes he could do that and touch himself elsewhere at the same time.

When he moves lower, his nipples are hard and feel hot, and he almost moves his hands back up to play with them some more. But his cock is already more than halfway to hard in his jeans, and Harry swallows heavily when Fionn flicks open the button and drags the zipper down. He pulls the flies open and shoves a hand inside without preamble, past the waistband of his underwear to wrap his fingers around his cock.

Harry grabs his own like he's copying Fionn, but where Fionn squeezes and jerks as well as he can within the confines of his clothes, Harry just holds himself and slowly brushes his thumb over the head every so often. It makes a shiver of heat run up Fionn's spine to see, and he lets his head tip back and groans involuntarily, brings his second hand up and puts two fingers in his mouth because it suddenly feels so empty.

“Fuck,” Harry curses, sudden and heartfelt, and Fionn straightens up and hollows his cheeks around his fingers. He makes sure they're slick with spit when he pulls them back out, opens his eyes and meets Harry's gaze as he lowers his wet fingers and traces circles around one of his nipples.

Harry's eyes jump down to follow the movement, and he groans.

“Fuck, Fionn. Look at you.”

Fionn hums a little.

“I believe you are,” he says, almost surprised by the sound of his own voice.

Harry doesn't bother with a clever comeback, just watches as Fionn pulls his other hand out of his trousers, fingertips wet with a little precome, and smears that around the other nipple. Fionn sucks the last of the taste off before drawing a wet line down the centre of his chest, all the way back down to where the bulge in his underwear is clearly visible in the open fly of his jeans.

He hooks his thumbs into both and shimmies them down a little, over the jut of one hipbone and then the other, and then turns around, bends over at the waist to push his clothes further down. At the noise Harry makes he grins to himself a little and manages to not even wobble as he pulls the last of his clothes off entirely, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. When he turns back around, it's to Harry's wide-eyed, hungry stare that immediately falls to Fionn's cock, standing up proudly from its nest of black curls.

Fionn gets up onto the mattress on his knees, crawls a little closer before he spreads his legs and settles on his haunches, wrapping a hand around his cock and reminding himself sternly to be slow about it.

“Any special requests?” he asks as he starts to pull at himself languidly.

Harry's gaze snaps back up to his face, and Fionn feels his whole body go hot under it. Harry shakes his head.

“Just do it like you would if I wasn't here.”

“If you weren't here, I'd already be done,” Fionn says with a roll of his eyes, and Harry grins, wide and easy.

“Whatever feels good, then.”

All of it feels good with Harry watching him like that, but Fionn doesn't bother asking again. Instead he runs his hands up over his thighs, brushes his fingers in the grooves where his thighs meet his torso the way Harry did earlier, runs nails up over his abdomen. Usually Fionn sees no point in teasing himself like this. It feels good when someone else does it, sure, but when it's his own hands… it still feels nice. It just doesn't rile him up much.

But with Harry's eyes following the movement of his hands, there's something to be said for taking it slow, for allowing his fingers to count the indents of his ribs at his sides, to run them up over his neck and face. Just close his eyes and _touch._ The way he usually only touches other people.

It's easy to imagine Harry being the one doing the touching in his stead, but every thought of Harry also brings Fionn back to the reality of the situation – to Harry watching him touch himself, eyes intent, and hand lazily curled around his cock. It's so much more flattering than Fionn thought, and he likes it so much more too, this idea that Harry finds him sexy. Obviously he knew that, but Harry wanting to touch and kiss and fuck Fionn feels different than Harry wanting to simply look at him. It's a different kind of sexiness, one that Fionn never thought he'd suit. He doesn't doubt that he can learn how to touch someone the right way, but he's never considered himself much to look at.

So this, the way he can see Harry watch him when he opens his eyes again, this is a new kind of rush.

Harry holds his gaze only for the span of two heartbeats, smiles at Fionn and then lets his eyes wander over his body again, unashamed.

It makes Fionn arch his back and run his hands back down until he finally grabs hold of his cock again, jerks it lazily while he runs the other hand over his thighs, then inward to play with his balls.

Harry makes an appreciative noise, almost like it's him who's been touched that way, but when Fionn looks he's still only occasionally playing with the head of his cock. It feels a bit like a challenge, that. The fact that Harry's so seemingly content to stay that way, just a little stimulation that doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

So Fionn reaches further behind his balls, shifts his knees further apart and rubs his fingers over his perineum. It makes his eyelids flutter shut and the muscles in his thighs and abdomen clench just once. Harry licks his lips and swallows heavily, eyes fixed on where Fionn's fingers are vanishing between his legs with clear intent.

“Yeah,” he breathes, quietly, not like he's meaning for it to tell Fionn anything in particular. But Fionn catches it anyway, gaze flitting to his night stand before he's fully formed the thought behind it.

The lube's there. A dildo too.

Harry hasn't seen him look but when Fionn leans over – one hand on the mattress for balance, one fishing both items out of the little drawer – he looks.

And moans.

“Oh, fuck,” Fionn hears him say, voice gravelly already, and looks over to see him squeeze his hand around his dick.

“Fionn,” Harry says, and looks up to catch his gaze, eyes wide.

Fionn feels his lips pull up into a smile, blinks once, slowly, to make it a little sexier maybe.

“Feels good,” he says, sitting up again.

Harry huffs an almost breathless laugh and rocks forward like he wants to reach out for Fionn, but doesn't.

“Show me,” he says instead, so Fionn drops the toy next to him on the sheets and wets his fingers with the lube.

He reaches behind himself when he's done, rubs at his hole and only lets Harry see the movement of his arm and the way he's started playing with his cock with his other hand again.

“Fionn,” Harry says again. There's a whine in his voice now, and Fionn feels the thrill of it shiver in his veins.

“No,” he says, simply, and pushes one finger in. It's not the best position for this, but he'll make do.

For a moment, Harry looks like he's going to argue, but then he settles again, smiles that slow smile of his. He's pulling at his lower lip with his teeth, and the way it goes redder and plumper makes Fionn think of all the times _his_ teeth have done that to Harry's mouth. Maybe Harry did it on purpose, or maybe he didn't, but either way, it almost makes Fionn want to abort this plan in favour of getting to touch Harry. Instead he adds another finger, makes a soft noise at the stretch, and watches Harry's arm flex where it looks like he's holding back from playing with himself now.

Instead of watching Harry watch him, Fionn lets his eyes fall shut, has to lean back onto his other hand for balance, concentrate on going slow.

“God, Fionn, you look so...” Harry groans, and Fionn only notices his hips rolling down to meet his fingers when he wonders what he does look like.

Wanton, probably.

A little lost to his own pleasure.

If it were Harry putting on this sort of show, Fionn wouldn't know where to look. The movement of his arms? The way the ink in his skin makes every shift of the muscles underneath so obvious? The way his cock stands up between his legs? His face? Would Harry's mouth fall open to breathe the way that Fionn's does? Does Harry find it as impossible to look away from Fionn's mouth as Fionn does Harry's?

Fionn opens his eyes again, just to check, and nearly feels his arm buckle when he meets Harry's gaze.

God, the way Harry looks at Fionn is always quite something, but this? This weight to his stare feels like a physical touch. Like every slow down-up of Harry's inky lashes brushes over his skin like the silkiest whisper.

“You look so good,” Harry says, quietly. It still sounds so loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Fionn swallows heavily.

“Good enough to fucking eat,” Harry goes on.

“Not yet,” Fionn says. He means to tease, but it comes out a little too sincere.

“No?” Harry asks. He spreads his legs a little more, sinks a little further against the headboard, hand working his own cock slowly still. He's smiling that slow, dirty smile of his.

“You like this? Being watched?”

Fionn finds himself nodding, heat flushing his cheeks and crawling down his neck and chest.

“Love the way you look at me,” he says.

“Can't look away, darling,” Harry promises, eyes locked on Fionn's until Fionn blinks and Harry's gaze slips lower. It lingers on his mouth and the junction of his neck and shoulder where Harry likes to put his teeth, leave a mark.

Fionn feels his dick twitch at the thought and decides he's ready for another finger.

Harry groans when Fionn pulls his hand back around to wet his fingers with more lube, leaning forward when he reaches back around behind himself like that'll make it possible for him to see what he's doing.

“Don't you want to let me see that too?”

Fionn's lips kick up into a grin and he shakes his head a little.

“You've seen that before,” he says.

Harry huffs a quiet laugh and drags his gaze back up to meet Fionn's.

“Wanna show you something else,” Fionn says, and Harry's eyes fall down to the toy still lying by Fionn's knee.

“Is that how you get off when I'm not here?” Harry asks, voice low and just a hint of gravel in it.

There's something there, in the assumption that Fionn doesn't get off with other people when Harry's not around. Or maybe it's just a question, and that's why Harry looks up at Fionn again so quickly.

Fionn bites his lip.

“Not always,” he says. “Usually I can't be bothered. Just get a hand around myself and…”

He drifts off, takes his weight off the hand stabilising himself and makes a wanking motion in the air like Harry doesn't know what he means.

“But today…?” Harry asks, trailing off too.

“Thought I was going to get fucked when I saw you on the street,” Fionn says. “I was kind of looking forward to it.”

“Fuck,” Harry curses again, swaying forward a bit more and shuffling away from the headboard. He gets his legs underneath him, sitting back on his haunches like Fionn is. Leans forward and closer to Fionn, swaying in like he's going to kiss him. Fionn would let him too, can almost taste the desire in the air between them, but then Harry groans and leans back again.

“Show me,” Harry says instead.

Fionn pulls his fingers out of his hole and grabs the toy, slicks it up and then shuffles around himself, careful not to touch Harry. He turns his back to him and then bends over, one arm braced under his head and the other one reaching behind himself with the toy, rubbing the tip along the crack of his ass until it snags on his hole.

Fionn groans at the sensation, and Harry groans at the sight, or the noise, or both. In any case Fionn feels his spine go slack with the awareness of Harry so close, watching him. Of the way Fionn put himself on display for him. His back arches and Fionn pushes the toy in, past the initial resistance, in, in, in, to get his body used to it.

It's this, why Fionn doesn't do this often. It takes so long to get his body to cooperate, but when it does, when the push in and pull out of the toy becomes smooth, and he manages to find the right angle, it's so good too.

He only processes the click of the tube of lube when he feels something cool touch his skin, jumps a little when it slides around where he's still pushing the toy inside slowly.

“Thanks,” he huffs and pulls the toy back out, feels the muscles of his ass clamp around nothing while he runs the tip of the toy through the additional slick on his skin.

“Fionn,” Harry groans again, and Fionn grins into the sheet and pushes the toy back inside.

It feels better already this time, the push-pull of it easier, and it he doesn't think it takes long at all this time for it to turn really good. Or maybe that's just the thought of Harry watching him, the way Fionn's ears strain to hear Harry's laboured breathing under his own, the small moans he lets fall from his mouth sometimes.

Fionn's dick is starting to feel more than just a little neglected now, and Fionn can feel the way precome's dripping down it onto the sheet underneath him, braces on his arm to turn his head and watch it happen for a bit.

“Fucking hell, Fionn,” Harry says and Fionn sees one of his hands reach out to touch the wet spot on the sheet between Fionn's legs, keens and collapses again, face pressed into the sheet uncomfortably. This really isn't the best position to get himself off, but Harry's heavy panting behind him is honestly worth it.

“Jesus, fuck, I wish I could take a picture of you like this,” Harry says. “You're so fucking sexy, Fionn. Fuck.”

Fionn's probably a few notches of sex-high away from letting Harry take that picture. He bites down on the sheet just in case the words want to slip out, thinks of Harry picking up his phone and the artificial sound of the shutter. The paleness of his skin, the flush of blood from his arousal pink on it, the black of the toy stark and solid against it.

“I'll bring my Polaroid next time,” Harry goes on. “Lock the pictures up where no one can find them.”

“Just you,” Fionn says, muffled against the sheets.

He can see Harry's knees shift further apart in the periphery of his vision, hears the rustle of the sheet under his shifting weight.

“Just me,” Harry confirms. “Then I can look at you like this whenever I want.”

Fionn wants to tell Harry he can do that as is, can come over and look at Fionn whenever he wants, but he knows that's not actually true. Doesn't want to think about the outside world details of their…. arrangement. Such as it is.

So instead he snakes his second hand underneath his body, grabs for his own cock and starts wanking it in time with the shallow thrusts of the dildo inside him, pressing against his prostate every other time or so. It's not exactly comfortable on his neck, and it doesn't make breathing any easier either, the sheet going damp with his moans and panting breaths, but it feels so good to finally get his hand back around himself, the pleasure kicking up a few notches instantly.

“Oh god,” Harry groans behind him, and Fionn thinks about how easy it would be to just pull the toy out and tell Harry to fuck him, to feel his hard cock inside him, have Harry lean over him, chest to back. Move together, hips rolling, fingers curling into the sheet, Harry's mouth on the back of Fionn's neck, his shoulders.

“Fuck me,” he groans into the sheet, invitation and expression of the fantasy at the same time.

Harry moans and huffs a laugh right after.

“No touching, remember,” he says, but his voice sounds a little strained now too, and Fionn feels the coil of heat in his gut pull tighter with every time he swipes his thumb over the sensitive, wet head of his cock on every pull down.

“Gonna come,” he says, and Harry moans again.

“Show me.”

Fionn wishes, suddenly and intensely, that Harry would touch him now at least, pushes his hips back, but not back far enough and Harry doesn't take him up on the clear invitation.

“Harry,” Fionn moans, makes his cramping arm angle the toy against his prostate again and rubs over it, small, intense movements that make him open his mouth wider against the sheet.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans, high-pitched and drawn out, the rush of his orgasm starting low at the base of his spine, pulled out of him strong enough that his toes tingle as his hips stutter forwards into his own hand.

“Yes, yes, Fionn,” Harry moans behind him, and Fionn barely rides the waves of his orgasm to their end before he lowers his arms. Can't be bothered to pull the toy out and just stretches his arms before folding them under his head, giving his neck some relief.

“Wanna come on you,” Harry says. “Fionn. Can I?”

Fionn moans a little at the thought and nods.

“Do it,” he says, shuffles his knees a little further apart.

The sound of Harry's hand stripping his cock is fast and wet now, and Fionn can feel the toy sliding out of his ass slowly from the way his body's coming down from his orgasm. It's not exactly the best feeling, but he can't be bothered to do anything about it, and then before he needs to, Harry pushes it back in, coaxing a surprised moan out of him.

“Fuck, Harry,” he groans, hips twitching from the sensation.

Harry does it again, pulls it out and pushes in a little, knows that Fionn likes how sensitive he gets after an orgasm.

“Fionn,” Harry moans, cuts himself off with a sharp breath, and then Fionn feels the wet of Harry's release on his lower back, the cheeks of his ass.

“Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Fionn, you look--”

A little ruined, probably.

Fionn feels a grin pull at his mouth and he reaches back with his hands again, pulls the toy out after all and then grabs handfuls of his ass to give Harry a better look of where he's flushed pink with use.

Harry groans again and rubs the tip of his cock over Fionn's hole as it clenches around nothing, wringing a bit more pleasure out of both of them.

“God, I want to--” Harry says and rubs his cockhead over Fionn's ass again. “Fionn, can I--”

“Kiss me first,” Fionn says, twisting on the sheets so he's on his back.

Harry's already smiling down at him when Fionn finds his gaze, leaning in to finally kiss Fionn again. Fionn sighs happily into the contact, lifting his arms to pull Harry down on top of him. Harry grins into the kiss for a moment before his tongue sweeps out to meet Fionn and he slides to the side a little, grabbing Fionn's waist to turn him along so they come to lie on their sides.

When Harry uses the new position to stroke his palm up and down the line of Fionn's spine before his fingers slip down between the cheeks of his ass, seeking out his hole again, Fionn only huffs a laugh and playfully bites at Harry's jaw once before letting Harry kiss him again.

The night _is_ still young.

 

**The End**


End file.
